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November 24, 2009

A Gourmand tour of Paris with the NY Times...Bon Appetit !

Liberty, Equality, Gastronomy: Paris via a 19th-Century Guide

By TONY PERROTTET

Published: November 22, 2009

A marvelous painting of a gourmand at his table hangs in the Musée Carnavalet in Paris
— a portly, pink-faced figure happily gorging on a regal casserole,
with a bottle of wine at one elbow and a luscious-looking soufflé at
the other. It is traditionally believed to be a portrait of
Alexandre-Balthazar-Laurent Grimod de la Reynière, an aristocrat
notorious in Napoleonic France
for gratifying his palate with the same abandon as his contemporary the
Marquis de Sade showed in indulging carnal desires. Whether or not the
painting is actually Grimod’s likeness, it captures the eccentric,
omnivorous spirit that made him not only a gustatory symbol in the
Paris of his day, but the grand-père of all modern food writers as well.

Starting in 1803, Grimod, whose family fortune had largely been lost
during the Revolution, financed his voracious appetite by writing a
series of best-selling guidebooks to the culinary wonders of Paris —
its famous delicatessens, pâtissiers and chocolatiers — including the
first reviews of an alluring new institution called le restaurant. His
Almanachs des Gourmands were something new, the Michelins and Zagats of
his era, and their offbeat style reflects the author’s larger-than-life
character. Grimod was born in 1758 with deformed hands, one a birdlike
talon and the other a webbed pincer. But he was not one to be held
back, so he had learned to write — and dine — with metal prostheses. A
social butterfly, he became a successful theater critic in Paris before
the Revolution, survived the Terror and amused himself later by hosting
literary salons in the cafes. And, of course, eating.

It was on the trail of Grimod one day last summer that I passed through the vaulted arches of the Palais Royal, opposite the north wing of the Louvre,
and into a vast, empty courtyard. In Grimod’s day, the Palais Royal was
the heart and soul of Paris, a rowdy entertainment center filled with
brothels and sideshows that, despite its louche ambience, also boasted
some of his favorite specialty food stores and restaurants.

For
me, it was the first stop in what would become a week of wandering the
modern city armed with a map on which I had marked streets mentioned by
Grimod. One of the most exciting things about the Almanachs is that
they include detailed gastronomic walking tours of Paris, called
“nutritional itineraries” — each one a vivid window onto the past.

Fortunately, on my last day in Paris, the past and present
seamlessly met, and for a change the restaurant seemed to come to me. I
was strolling the Rue St.-Honoré near the site of another long-gone
boulangerie when I noticed a tiny row of medieval structures attached
to the Church of St.-Roch. One hole-in-the-wall turned out to be a
minuscule restaurant complete with original pot-cluttered kitchen. It
was called La Cordonnerie
(the Shoemaker’s) and, according to the blackboard, it served cuisine
de marché, fresh market food. I had accidentally hit pay dirt: the
fantasy of a charming French boîte.

There were fewer than 20
seats in this intimate space, which dated from 1690, with blackened
beams against the low white ceiling. The chef was a maestro in his
cramped workplace, preparing alone the day’s menu of foie gras in
homemade chocolate sauce and roast pork with field mushrooms. He was
also the owner, I later learned, having inherited the restaurant from
his parents.

I eagerly took a seat in the farthest corner,
ordered without restraint, as Grimod might have done, and chatted,
between sips of muscadet, with an elderly couple at a nearby table.
They said they lived around the corner on the Rue St.-Honoré and came
here at least once a week to enjoy the fresh market fare. “Always the
full three courses at lunch,” giggled Madame. “Then a nap — and no
dinner!”

I felt sure that Grimod must have eaten here at some
time or another. He certainly would have approved of the setting. Of
one of his favorite restaurants, Le Gacque’s, he wrote: “His salons are
nothing sumptuous, but the cuisine is good, the wines excellent, and
the prices moderate.” Plus, there was a friendly, unobtrusive staff.

Of
course, a gourmand’s work is never done, at least not in Paris. After
coffee, I had my guidebook in hand. Now if only I could find Sulleaux’s
confectionery store, for some of his legendary petits fours. ...

The Hôtel de Crillon (10, Place de la Concorde, 75008; 33-1-44-71-15-00; www.crillon.com),
offering over-the-top luxury, stands right next to the site of Grimod’s
family mansion, now occupied by the building that houses the United
States Embassy. Doubles from 770 euros (about $1,180 at $1.53 to the
euro).

The Hôtel de la Bretonnerie (22, rue Sainte-Croix-de-la-Bretonnerie, 75004; 33-1-48-87-77-63; www.bretonnerie.com)
in the Marais district operates in a restored 18th-century hôtel
particulier, or private mansion, with exposed wooden beams and a
magnificent wooden staircase that creaks at every step. Doubles from
135 euros.

WHAT TO READ

Almanach des Gourmands by Grimod de la Reynière. Paper copies are rare, but scans can now be found on Googlebooks.

“The Invention of the Restaurant: Paris and Modern Gastronomic Culture” by Rebecca L. Spang (Harvard University Press, 2000).

TONY PERROTTET is the author of "Napoleon’s Privates." His next book,
about the underground Grand Tour in the Victorian era, will be
published by Broadway Books.

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This is a great article that captures very well the atmosphere of Paris. If you feel nostalgic suddenly, I would recommend you to do your own Paris Tour in New York.